Shrunken Shirt
by Cranky Crocus
Summary: Rosethorn's temper is sparking up thanks to the sudden shrinking of her favorite shirt. She knows who to blame and where to find her, but suddenly doesn't know how to reply. Possibly standalone. Rosethorn x Lark. FxF love. Don't like it, don't read it.
1. The Shirt

Page 2 of 2Shrunken Shirt

Rosethorn stormed into Lark's workroom, the skirts of her habit slashing through the air with audible 'crack's. Lark was barely able to glance up from her loom before the plant mage spoke in a growl.

"My favorite shirt has just shrunk and it's due to your temper!" Rosethorn stated testily, holding up a small, white silk shirt looking about the size a toddler might wear.

"And yet you're the one stampeding in here with a face as red as one of your famous tomatoes," Lark retorted with a mock sneer, though she could not hide the sparkle in her eyes.

"I've got every right to! I'm going to Summersea in a little more than a week and suddenly half of my outfit is small enough to fit a _child_," she snarled, glaring. It was at that point that she noticed the sparkle in the thread mage's eyes and replayed the amusement that had been in her voice. Puzzled but still angered, Rosethorn raised both eyebrows and tapped a foot impatiently. "What's so humorous?"

"Well, you, for one thing. But also that you figured I shrank your shirt accidentally. I will repair your shirt," Lark replied steadily and smiled, rising gracefully and walking to the door. As she closed it she heard Rosethorn speak.

"What's going on? My shirt is unusable and now you tell me it's intentional. Speak, woman," the smaller woman ordered impatiently. She crossed her arms, the shirt still tucked into one fist. Her foot continued tapping.

Lark walked to her impatient visitor, her smile transforming into a lustful grin. She placed a gentle hand on Rosethorn's and urged, "Pass me that lovely shirt of yours, love?"

Rosethorn nodded skeptically, one eyebrow still highly arched. She gazed up into the eyes of the thread mage, attempting to gauge if this was one of Lark's many plans to get them together for alone time.

The thread mage left Rosethorn to her pondering. Lark looked down at the shirt she had taken from her visitor's hand. The fine silk thread that made up the cloth called to Lark, telling her of their itch to go back to the size they were most accustomed to. After all, they added, _you _were the one that spun and wove us the way we were before

Lark chuckled at that and apologized through her magic as she steadied herself, following the meditation breathing exercise. After she was stable, she looked at the cloth with her Magic's eyes. With her magical self, she pulled gently at each thread, working gently with her magic shaped into two nimble, gentle hands.

When at last she saw that the shirt was back to it's normal size, Lark sighed contently. She couldn't help but blush, thinking of where the shirt rested on Rosethorn and how the threads must feel against her creamy skin. With that thought the thread mage blinked and stretched, groaning slightly at the complaints of her muscles. When she placed the shirt over her arm and looked around, she saw that Rosethorn sat in the chair near the loom, toying with her habit and looking straight at Lark.

That's funny, how long have I been working? Lark thought, walking on stiff legs to the other woman. Lark put the shirt in Rosethorn's lap.

"How long was I out?" Lark asked with a nervous laugh, leaning against a stable part of the loom. She looked to Rosethorn and noticed that her cheeks were slightly colored. Lark couldn't help but wonder what the plant mage was thinking about.

"About forty-five minutes. The Hub clock just announced that it's rest period. Thanks for mending my shirt," Rosethorn replied, crossing her legs and leaning back against the chair back. In doing so, her habit rode down and showed the stretch of skin around her neck and collarbone. Lark wanted so much to caress and spoil the area with kisses that she trembled with the effort of stopping herself. Rosethorn arched a delicate brow and looked Lark in the eye, asking suddenly, "Was this another of your schemes?"

"Is it wrong for a woman to want to spend some time with her love?" Lark replied with an impish smirk and walked to the smaller woman. The thread mage offered a hand.

Rosethorn took the hand and Lark helped her up, then brought the hand to her mouth and kissed Rosethorn's knuckles lightly. It wasn't so much of a kiss, rather Lark's lips brushing softly against Rosethorn's skin. She colored deeply and placed her free hand on the willowy woman's hip.

Lark leaned down slowly and kissed Rosethorn squarely on her full, pink lips. Rosethorn laced her fingers with Lark's on their touching hands and began to pull lightly towards the door, eyes a sparkle.

As the two walked towards the door Rosethorn couldn't help but ask, "Why did you go through with this whole scheme when you knew rest period was coming up, anyway?"

The thread mage smiled at her companion's curiosity before replying, "You know as well as I that had I not made you come, you would have worked in that garden of yours right through rest period without even coming in for a drink. I'm jealous of your plants and how you care for them so."

Rosethorn colored again and looked down to hide a sheepish grin. She rested her head on the taller woman's shoulder. "Well, then. Since you've gone through all the trouble, I'll care for you in just the way you like through rest period and beyond. We can even stargaze on the roof tonight before the midnight service. How does that sound?"

"Like the best gift anyone could give!" Lark exclaimed giddily, barely controlling the urge to skip or at least sing out in joy. Possibly even a cartwheel would have been considered. By that time they had reached the door to Lark's bedroom and entered, closing the door behind them.

Needless to say, they didn't reappear outside of that room for hours.


	2. The Revenge

Page 4 of 4"Rosethorn's Revenge"

Rosethorn grinned wickedly. Chestut hair fell in front of alabaster skin as she leaned forward in a kneel to care for a sassy young bean vine. The plant had snaked its way to her, and she ordered it to go back to where it was meant to rest.

"I'll get that bird of mine today for sure," the green mage remarked with the grin still plastered on her full lips. It had been two weeks since Lark had tricked her into alone time, and Rosethorn wanted her revenge. A few of the plants around the woman bristled for a moment, all asking innocently, and in different ways, why she wanted revenge on the bird-named human that often visited the garden. She is gentle with us, they added.

Rosethorn tilted back her head and laughed out loud at that. Others must think I'm a crazed wench; cackling while I'm supposedly alone in a garden, she thought. She released a small thread of her power to each of the plants before replying that Lark had tricked her into working up a temper, and then into spending the day with her only a fortnight ago. The plants gave off a feeling of understanding at the answer. Rosethorn continued her gardening while she thought of a plan for revenge.

Lark sighed contently and reclined against her chair back. She thoroughly enjoyed weaving, but it did mean that she had to sit with a perfectly straight back. She had been sitting in that position for hours, and needed a nice stretch.

As the thread mage stood she stretched her arms and then pressed her hands against the small of her back. She rotated her torso from side to side to get rid of the kinks. Pleased, she walked out of the workshop towards the kitchen to grab a drink. As she poured herself a drink she noticed that the potted plants in the room seemed more stiff than usual, as if they were soldiers on alert. Lark shrugged, Rosethorn would take care of it.

Lark downed the drink and placed the cup in the basin before she took a few steps in the direction her workshop. She paused as a different idea crossed her mind. Instead, she walked into Rosethorn's workshop. On the way, a plant's leaf grazed her naked hand. She shivered at the contact. I'll get some exercise, Lark thought. It'll loosen up this knot a bit.

The stocky young woman smirked and rubbed her palms together. She cackled under her breath. It's more fun acting daft than I thought, Rosethorn realized, amused. She had finally come up with a plan. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a green blur. Curious, she turned to see Lark turning a cartwheel. The limber woman then went on to do a round off, back flip, and a backwards roll. She finished in a right pretzel and then stood to brush the grass and dirt from her habit.

Rosethorn blinked multiple times, thoroughly surprised. She hadn't seen Lark perform moves like that since...well, never. Sure Lark turned a cartwheel here and there, but Rosethorn had never seen her do a show like that. Lark will always amaze me, the gardener thought, and slowly went back to her previous task. Her movements were sluggish, as her mind was still blown away from the sight of Lark being that athletic and limber.

The ex-tumbler returned to her workshop breathing heavily but quite soothed. She remembered the feeling of being exhausted by the use of magic, but somehow being physically tired in the muscles felt relaxing and pleasant. She enjoyed doing her old tumbling moves.

The loom lingered before the earth dedicate and reminded her of the work to come. Lark sat again and began to weave the yarn. Her cloth was almost complete. She had an hour of work left, tops. From the corner of her eye she saw movement in her hemp basket, but Lark ignored it. It's probably the wind, reasoned the working thread mage. She was concentrating too completely on her work to remember that the cloth surrounding her workshop was warded against wind.

A while later Lark felt something graze her calf. Her attention jumped to the hemp yarn snaking passed her leg. While she was distracted, flax yarn slithered down from her shoulder and wrapped around her wrists. By the time she knew what was going on it was too late. Her wrists and ankles were tied with plant material, and a shocked expression reigned over Lark's features.

A face materialized in front of Lark's inner eye. Rosethorn, her mind informed her slyly. Lark nodded and tested her ability to hop. It would have been hard for most, but the ex-tumbler still had the balance from hours on the high bar. The woman hopped to the door, only bending her knees minimally.

Rosethorn looked up when she heard a sound at the door. She had been grooming the herbs in her workshop. What she looked up to find was quite an odd sight. Lark stood there, tall as ever and rightfully seeming to be a combination of puzzled, curious, and miffed. The plant mage smiled slowly; her plan had worked thus far.

"Dearest Rosethorn, might I ask why I've been tied with plant restraints?" Lark asked dryly, beginning to grin. She knew what this was about; she had expected it in some form or another.

"Ah, my darling, you'd have to come closer in order for me to answer that," Rosethorn replied flirtatiously. She threw out a thread of her magic, and it wrapped around the flax that was tied around Lark's wrists. With a firm tug of the magical chord, Lark fell forwards into the room. Unable to get her feet under her, the restrained woman fell like a tree.

The chestnut-haired woman was there to catch Lark, and did so with surprising grace. Rosethorn lowered herself, and Lark, to the firmly packed dirt floor. The shorter woman straightened and separated her legs before pulling Lark into a sitting position between them.

Rosethorn pressed her front against Lark's back and placed her chin upon Lark's shoulder. The green mage's arms snaked around the taller woman's waist. "You know precisely why," the stocky young woman whispered against Lark's neck, her breath hot and steamy.

Lark shuddered as she felt Rosethorn's heat pressed up against her back. The thread mage gained control of herself, though she could not stop the heat that was forming between her legs in response to Rosethorn's closeness. At last Lark spoke, and in no more than a whisper. She felt weak all over from want. "Two can play this game."

The green habit that signified Rosethorn's dedication to the Earth Gods flinched. A second later the habit was unlatching itself and sliding to where Rosethorn's hands rested at Lark's abdomen. The habit-less dedicate wore a white cotton shirt and brown cotton breeches. In fact, all clothing on her was created with cotton.

Just as the habit began to cover Rosethorn's hands she grinned against Lark's shoulder. Her whisper was highly amused, "Now, now, little bird. I'm sure you're well aware that our habits are cotton, and also where cotton comes from. Unless you wish for the both of us to become exhausted from a magic duel over the material, I'd suggest you give up on that idea." The material jumped from Rosethorn's hands and landed spread over the legs of the two women.

Lark realized that at this moment she was at Rosethorn's command. The green mage wore all cotton, her workspace was filled with green life, and the thread mage was restrained with plants. She sighed in defeat and leaned her head back against Rosethorn's. "All right, Rosie. I admit defeat--for now--and I am at your will. What do you wish of me?"

Rosethorn smiled genuinely and brushed her lips against Lark's cheek. Her whisper was soft and haughty; it tickled the dark-skinned woman's ear. "I wish you to come with me and do as I say."

The restrained woman nodded, somehow enjoying this moment of humiliation. Moments such as this had been common during her life as a tumbler; many lovers participated in this rough play. Lark hadn't realized that she had missed it until now.

The ties at Lark's ankles slithered away and wrapped themselves around a table leg. Rosethorn stood carefully and then helped Lark up. The shorter woman half the extra of Lark's wrist ties and tugged. The tall woman stumbled forwards into Rosethorn. The stocky dedicate shook her head, grinning wickedly. "Now that simply will not do. Someone needs to be chastised," Rosethorn scolded mockingly. She bit Lark's shoulder.

There wasn't much pain, but the touch was electric. To play along, Lark looked down in an ashamed manner. Rosethorn reached out and cupped the taller woman's cheek. It was soft and gentle, leaving tingles to trail away from the touch. The tall woman shivered and nuzzled into the soft flesh of Rosethorn's hand.

"Does someone want some attention?" Rosethorn questioned teasingly, and in a man's voice. She brought her hand to the opening between Lark's legs and wiggled her fingers over the sensitive spot. Lark bit her bottom lip and swallowed hard in response. She attempted to ignore the throbbing want between her legs.

The smaller woman gave a cheeky grin and removed the contact that Lark yearned for. The willowy dedicate looked down at the floor and pitched forwards when Rosethorn pulled on the restraint. As the two women made their way to Rosethorn's room, the plants and cloth in the room stirred excitedly.

Often, Rosethorn was a gentle lover. Other times, she played the commander. Lark was the same. To Lark, love was a mutual relationship. She enjoyed this technique of Rosethorn's equally as much as her others. To be honest, it was a bit more fun.

Rosethorn stopped at her closed door and pushed Lark's back to it. The green mage rose and kissed Lark passionately and with quite a bit of pressure. She skipped any sort of innocence. As the kiss grew in intensity Lark lost all logical thoughts. She didn't have any need for them at that point, anyway.

The ivory-skinned young woman turned the doorknob and shoved the door open while she continued to massage Lark's mouth and tongue with her own. The two fell back onto the bed with Rosethorn on top of Lark. The green mage straddled her toy and tied the leftovers of Lark's ties to the bedpost. A strong wind came in through the window and slammed the door shut.

Rosethorn may not have had skulls hanging from hooks in her ceiling, but she certainly had quite a few little tools that were much more hidden.


End file.
